


In Something Unknown

by DoreyG



Category: Cabin in the Woods (2011)
Genre: Gen, Non-canon POV, References to extreme violence, Yay unicorns, Yuletide Treat, sort of pre-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It can see nothing, usually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Something Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angledust/gifts).



It can see nothing, usually.

Ever stretching black, viewed through the shining square that It’s enclosed in. Sometimes an echoing flash of silver, glimpsed only distantly. Sometimes a ghost of night, the screams of the young echoing through the air. Sometimes other squares, darting miserably by – angry trees, gnarled and old. Faces full of teeth, just as hungry as It. Humans but _not_ , slobbering pathetically on the sides of their squares with their bones showing through their flesh.

None of them ever linger for long.

It can’t remember a time before It was here, the shining expanse beneath Its hooves and the oddly unyielding top just scraping the tip of Its horn. It might’ve been born here, though It has no recollection of any mother or father or parent somewhere in between. It might’ve been brought here, though It can’t quite reach back to a place without shining squares or endless black. It might’ve been _created_ , wrought and then left without anything to confirm the theory-

But, then, It’s not sure that It entirely understands the concept of creation. 

It thinks that It was born a spirit of destruction, or brought a spirit of destruction, or even maybe _created_ one (such a contradiction in terms, It thinks). It doesn’t quite remember a time before this square, no, but It remembers the last time it was let _out_. The screams of the people, such _people_ , still echo in its ears. The satisfying feeling of horn going through flesh can still be summoned to the front of Its mind, whenever the black bores it enough. The nameless allure of that _virgin_ -

…But, then, even that seems long ago now.

It can’t even remember the last time It got out, not exactly. It has vague impressions, delicious memories of what it felt like to let the destruction loose, but not actual details. It can only suppose, again distantly, that that must mean that it’s been a while – if the only proper _time_ It can remember has been spent in this shining square, surrounded by endless black, with no company but itself.

It wonders, sometimes, if the others It occasionally sees feel much the same way-

Only sometimes, though, for most of the time It spends considering _other_ things – like the way the shining square can’t be pierced no matter how hard It thrusts, and the way the black is so truly endless and unfeeling, and how those others It occasionally sees seem so far away and _out of reach_ , and the way the outside felt last time even when it was so very long ago, _and_ -

And.

It coils up into Itself, as much as It can within the narrow parameters of the shining square, stares _huffily_ out into that truly endless black. It’s a normal day today, absolutely nothing can be seen and Its left all alone and bored. Maybe it’s an in between period (in between _what_?), maybe the others are just avoiding It ( _why_?), _maybe_ they’ve all been called into the world beyond shining squares and endless black ( _How_?)

It can see nothing, usually.

(It misses the _blood_.)


End file.
